


The Girl Who Rode a Bronze

by AngryIrene



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 05:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11177739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryIrene/pseuds/AngryIrene
Summary: Set in the Seventh Pass, this story follows Surra, rider of the bronze Tameroth, a dragon who's unique genetic mutation has nullified many of the traditional traits of dragons - the most obvious being the one where bronzes cannot Impress women.A note on canon: While many would say this work is not canonical, I have tried very hard to keep everything that I can in the story exactly to Anne McCaffery's standards as set out in her books, with Tameroth being an abnormal mutation, similar to Ruth's, that won't be repeated and that will have been wiped from the records before the Ninth Pass. Part of why I wrote this is to explore what it would mean for the framework of the Weyrs (and for Pern!) if a girl like Surra came along and screwed it all up.Another note on canon: I largely ignore many books written by Tod McCaffery; as such, in this story, the so-called "dragon plague" never occurred, and Xhinna never Impressed Tazith.I don't think Kitty Ping saw this one coming...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know, this part is very Menolly-esque, but she's the only holdless character I had any reference for!

_Nerat. Early spring, 1761, 3 Turns into the Seventh Pass._

Though it was still dark, Surra opened her eyes. The black stone of her cave ceiling stared back. She could feel a warmth wrapped up next to her side... Kaia. The thought of the green fire-lizard – her only constant companion – made Surra smile. The lazy beast was still asleep.

As Surra shifted and sat up, arms stretching for the ceiling of the low cave that was her home, Kaia gave a muffled squawk of protest and sat up as well, her multi-faceted eyes whirling yellow with reproach. Smiling, Surra reached down and stroked an eye ridge to soothe the lizard, and Kaia's inner lids drooped slowly as her jeweled eyes changed to a contented blue-green.

Throwing off her furs, Surra placed cold feet on the stone floor and winced. Hurriedly pulling on her pants and boots, she yanked the furs off her lazy lizard, who again voiced protest. She stood up and stretched again, while Kaia launched herself out of the warm bed and buried herself in Surra's dark hair, chittering a mild scolding. Laughing softly, Surra worked around the lizard, braiding her hair in one long plait behind her so as to be out of the way. She didn't bother putting on a new shirt – fishing was hardly a clean business.

She ducked outside her cave, automatically glancing east over the Nerat jungle to check the position of the sun. The dense vegetation was now merely a black wall – dawn would not peek its head above the treeline for almost an hour.

With her emerald lizard crooning softly in her ear, Surra crouched next to the smoldering remains of last night's fire, coaxing it to a small flame to give her some light. As she ate her breakfast – smoked fish and a vinefruit – the firelight illuminated a woman of about nineteen or twenty Turns, slim and strong. Her eyes shone the same color as her faithful fire-lizard, with inky black hair framing a small, slightly pointed face. The freckles across her nose were lost to the shadows cast by the fire, her brown skin glowing hot from the dancing flame.

While Surra munched sleepily on her food, all caught or picked yesterday, Kaia swooped off into the pre-dawn darkness to catch her own breakfast. The woman closed her eyes and inhaled, breathing in the salty caress of the ocean wind as it mingled with the aromatic smoke from her small fire. It was high tide at the moment, with the waves crashing softly onto the white sand of the beach, the occasional plume of sea spray springing up as the churning water broke against the cliff that housed her cave. This was her favorite time of day – awake to smell the ocean, to watch the sun climb out of its jungled bed, to listen to nothing but the sound of the waves and the wind. Whereas others might have been driven mad by the solitude, Surra thrived on it.

With a contented sigh, Surra hauled herself up from the sand just as Kaia winked in at the mouth of the cave, spiderclaw in hand. As the fire-lizard daintily devoured her meal, Surra disappeared inside the cave and scraping could be heard – then the woman re-emerged, dragging a small wooden boat with elaborate carvings on the side. Grabbing her line and tackle, she picked up the oars and pushed off, rowing steadily and easily with long practice, letting the receding tide help her on her way out of her small cove. With the sun still below the horizon, Surra tied off the line with deft fingers and cast off into the rocking sea.

With a free hand, she rubbed the sturdy side of her boat. It had taken her more than a Turn to carve out a sea-worthy vessel from the tree felled during a terrible storm, but patience and dedication had won out eventually. Then she had been able to supplement her diet with the bigger fish that could be caught further off shore.

She turned east, toward her beach, and saw the first light of day reaching out above the Nerat jungle. She watched as the pale blue faded to orange and the fiery sun rose above the tree-line. Almost absent-mindedly, Surra remembered that dawn had been her mother's favorite time of day.

One of the few precious memories Surra still held of her mother was of dawn on the ocean. As a present for Surra each Turn on her name-day, her mother took her only daughter out to sea for two days, just the two of them fishing and sailing and laughing together. She remembered being woken in the pre-dawn blackness, the waves rocking comfortably beneath her, and being wrapped in a soft blanket in her mother's arms as the two watched the sun climb up above the horizon.

The memory did not make Surra smile, and she pushed thoughts of her family to the back of her mind. A tug on the line brought her gratefully to the present as she focused on catching her next meal. 

After hauling in her first catch (hopefully the first and not the last, Surra thought), she re-cast and settled back in for the wait. Kaia popped into the air and swooped down to Surra's shoulder. Absent-mindedly bringing a hand up to stroke the fire-lizard, whose hide was still cold from _between_ , Surra thought about the miraculous moment when she had Impressed the flighty green.

Barely three months since she'd struck out on her own, Surra had just been beginning to feel the first pangs of loneliness from her isolation. Still raw from grief – Surra clamped down, hard, on the thought and refused to think about _why_ she'd been grieving – she had begun to miss the familiar bustle of the Lilcamp caravan. And that was when she saw them.

At first she hadn't believed her eyes, thinking she'd gone mad with sunstroke. But there they were: four flying creatures, miniature dragons, flitting through the air; a gold followed by three bronzes. The gold had turned, seeming to play with her followers as she pranced just out of their reach, calling back to them, taunting. Deciding she _was_ thoroughly mad, Surra had followed them, watching as one of the bronzes dropped from exhaustion before the lucky winner caught the gold, just as they vanished over the cliff-face.

Surra remembered Harper songs about the miniature dragons, and had heard Lilcamp stories about the little fire-lizards who charred Thread from the air like their mighty cousins. Both accounts always ended the same – that the dragonets were incredibly rare and terribly afraid of humans, making their homes in warm sands far away from any Pernese habitation. Though she knew sailors who swore up and down they were real, Surra – like many people who lived in major holds – believed the lizards to be a story. But she had seen them, even if only for a moment, and now believed they were real.

Several weeks after witnessing such a miraculous ssight, Surra had hiked two coves down from her own in search of wherry. She'd made a trap by a freshwater pond, then headed down to the beach to fish. She'd barely cast off a line when she saw them again – on the far side of the beach, the gold was there, clawing at the sand, creating a small mound. Surra froze, and watched in fascination as the gold laid – laid! like a dragon would! - a clutch of eggs. Retreating slowly to the other edge of the beach so as not to bother her, Surra hiked back up to the pond where a wherry lay caught in her trap, but not before noticing the spiderclaw eggs in the tide-pools that would be mature and ripe for eating in about a month.

And so she had come back, a month later, not one to pass up an opportunity for easy food. With a pack stuffed full of spiderclaws, Surra had turned to head home. That's when she'd heard the humming. Down the other end of the beach, the queen and many other fire-lizards had gathered in a circle, humming. Apparently a far enough distance away to be unthreatening, Surra had sat down in the sand to watch. The eggs rocked and cracked, a lizard spilling out on the sand and blinking its incredible eyes in the bright sunlight. Bronze, brown, green, and blue – all these lizards took to piteous wing and dived to the sea for sustenance. A few clever ones saw the tide-pools not far from Surra, and coasted over to gorge themselves on spiderclaws. Surra had stayed silent and still, not wishing to frighten them away.

A muffled squall had come from behind her, and she turned her head to see a small green tail and a pair of hind legs sticking themselves out of the bag of spiderclaws. The young fire-lizard had smelled the food, crawled in to gobble up the apparent feast, and had gotten stuck. Laughing for the first time in months, Surra had pulled the protesting green out of the bag – who simply dove right back inside. Pulling her out once again, Surra held the wriggling animal with one hand and fished out a spiderclaw with the other, offering it to the small animal. The green made quick work of the crustacean, and waddled towards the bag for more. Hurriedly, Surra had pulled out another and fed the lizard again, repeating this over and over until the lizard's belly was distended with spiderclaw meat and she had fallen asleep in Surra's lap. Transferring the green to a warm rock at the edge of the pools, Surra spent the next hour refilling her bag of spiderclaws – the offerings in the pool now quite picked over thanks to the hungry lizards – before turning to leave the cove.

A cheep from behind had stopped her, and she turned to see the now-awake fire-lizard waddling towards her on the sand. Surra frowned, but continued to walk up the path. An insistent squawk sounded, and then suddenly the new-born green was flapping in the air right in front of Surra's face. She'd fallen over backwards into the sand as the green started chittering angrily. Wide-eyed, Surra did nothing, and the green settled itself on her knee and began preening. Slowly, Surra had reached a hand out to the lizard, who froze but did not move away. Moving ever so slowly, Surra stroked the green's head, who's dainty eyes had whirled green and blue as she crooned. Holding the small lizard, Surra had stood, and the green had perched on her shoulder and wrapped a tail 'round her neck as Surra left the cove and headed home. From then on Surra had a companion, who she named Kaia, to join her in the cave.

Surra broke free of her reminiscing when Kaia suddenly dived to the water, disappearing beneath the waves and then re-appearing with a wriggling fish in her mouth, which she swallowed whole. Laughing, Surra splashed the flighty animal with sea water, who squawked and splashed right back.

After several hours out on the open sea, Surra peered up at the sun, which was nearly at its zenith. Deciding that the four fish she'd caught – one a nasty packtail that she'd have to be especially careful with – were plenty, she grabbed her oars and headed in with the tide.

Back at the cave, Surra cleaned and gutted her catch efficiently and quickly with her knife, taking special care with the spiny packtail. She stoked her fire with damp wood from the beach, making it billow with smoke. Disappearing into her cave again, Surra came out carrying a strange contraption. Four poles had been lashed together by a large piece of wherhide to form an open-topped cone, about five feet high with a diameter that ranged from about four feet at the base to less than six inches at the top. Tied into the wherhide about three feet up the inside of the structure were branches forming a loose grid. After soaking the whole mess in the sea, Surra placed the fish on the grid before carefully setting the smoker over the fire. The smoke from the campfire swirled up through the cone, smoking the fish and preserving it for eating later.

Settling in for a long wait, Surra pulled her boat up to the sand where she sat and, while keeping an eye on the fire and the smoker, began adding more detail into a half-finished carving of a fish on the bow. Surra loved carving – she always felt more peaceful, more at ease, while she coaxed the designs out of the wood.

Her father had taught her to carve. She remembered back to when she was eight; already an expert at fishing but still barely able to carve any shape out of a piece of wood, her father had shown her how to properly hold the knife, how to read the woodgrain to get the most of the natural beauty of the surface, how to let go of the pattern she wanted to make and learn to carve the pattern that the wood would let her. He had been a master carver, her father, the pride of his Lilcamp trading caravan when he was a younger man. He'd given up that traveling life to live in Tillek with his wife, a woman who lived for the sea, but he'd never given up carving. 

But they were gone now, her mother and father. A storm had taken their ship when Surra was ten. A lightning strike to the mast had thrown the young girl and one sailor overboard into the sea, before a fire consumed the hold and devoured everyone on board. Two days in the ocean, clinging to the remains of her ship with the grizzled fisherman, before they washed ashore. No-one else had survived.

Surra's knife slipped, and she nicked herself with the blade. Frowning at a clumsy mistake she hadn't made in Turns, she carefully corrected the blunder she'd made in the wood by carving over it. But when she made another mistake in the pattern after a few minutes, she sighed and stopped, remembering her father's advice to never work the wood while upset. She dragged her precious boat back inside the cave, protecting it from Threadfall.

When she walked back outside into the sunshine, Surra poured more saltwater over the now mostly dry hide covering her smoker and added another damp log to the fire, making it smoke heavily. Almost absentmindedly, Surra reached down and pulled a small green shoot from out of the ground. Frowning, she turned to the head of the beach where the ground was more solid – and saw that new growth was poking its green leaves out of the dirt, not twenty paces from the mouth of her cave. Surra's frown deepened, and she reached into her fire for a makeshift torch before proceeding to pull or burn out all the greenery she could find within a hundred paces of her living quarters. Living on her own, Surra had to be careful. Even though dragons charred most Thread out of the sky before it landed on Pern, she knew – as all Pernese did – what a single strand of Thread could do to a person. It ate anything living, animal or plant, and she kept all nearby organic matter hidden safely deep in her cave so as not to give the voracious parasite a potential nesting ground close to where she lived.

With the greenery sufficiently cleared, Surra poured more water over the smoker to keep the wherhide from burning. Peering at the sun, she judged that she had a good two hours or so before sunset, and decided – since carving was not a good idea now, moody as she was – to hike into the jungle a ways to check her snares. She mostly ate fish and the occasional fruit or tubers she could dig up, but wherry was a nice change from the monotonous menu, when she could get it. 

Walking through the jungle was always a pleasant experience for Surra, provided the evening wasn't too hot. She collected a few fresh vinefruit on her way, mentally marking down trees that would be ready for harvest in a week or so, and taking note of where low, small plants that meant tubers underneath in a few months were growing. She picked her way up the slope, following the stream that provided her cove with freshwater. Kaia flitted about over head as Surra walked along, but as the pair reached a bend in the stream the woman called the lizard to her, and Kaia perched quietly on her shoulder.

Moving slowly, Surra rounded the bend and bent to check her first snare. Empty, but that did not dishearten her. She kept moving. Further down she found another, also empty; the third had obviously been sprung, but the wherry had been too big for the trap and had ripped itself free. Making a mental note to fix it later, Surra continued on, finding two more empty traps before she came to an occupied one. 

She heard the racket that the wherry was making before she saw it. The large bird was trying frantically to pull out of the noose wrapped 'round its legs, beating the air ineffectually with its wings and honking furiously. Surra walked forward quickly, Kaia now fluttering in the air behind her, and swiftly broke the creature's neck, killing it instantly. She took a moment to silently thank the stupid if tasty bird before slinging it over her shoulder. She checked the last of her traps – empty – and headed back down the stream.

When she came to the third snare, the one that had been broken, she carefully laid the dead bird on the ground and bent down to fix the snare, humming a snatch of a small tune as she did so. Slowly mending the snare with the ease of long practice, she thought about where she'd heard that song before. Ah, yes, it was a Lilcamp song... a newer song, one she'd heard when...

Surra froze, then started to tremble, the half-healed snare falling to the ground. Darik had taught her that song. It had been one of her favorites, and he'd sang it to her often as they fell asleep in the back of their wagon. He'd been humming it the day he taught her to make a snare.

She tried her hardest to push down the memories and the hurt and the loss that welled up from inside of her, but she couldn't. They overwhelmed her, flashing through her mind. Meeting the handsome Lilcamp trader when she was not even seventeen, in Tillek, he a young man from the caravan her father used to trade with. Joining his band of traders even as Thread began to fall at the start of the Seventh Pass, eager to leave the memory of her parents' death behind. Him teaching her all the skills her father had meant to; how to hunt, how to sing and play music, how to dance. Falling in love under the stars. Building a life together as they journeyed across the continent for a Turn. And then...

Threadfall over Nerat had caught the caravan unawares, bogged down by a broken axle miles away from the nearest hold. The dragonriders and their mighty beasts had been there, as they were supposed to, to char the vicious thread from the sky. But Darik, Darik had been outside when the leading edge fell, and the dragonriders missed a clump of entangled thread... a clump that landed on Darik and his horse. They were gone in seconds, devoured by the alien life. His kinsmen had flamed the remaining thread, but Darik, her love, her husband, was dead. She still remembered the agonized screams of man and horse as they were consumed by Thread.

She had left the caravan after that. There was nothing with the Lilcamps for her now, only pain and sorrow. But a few days in Nerat Hold had taught her that it wasn't just the Lilcamps she wanted to avoid – it was people. She couldn't stand them. They were so alive, and everyone who she loved was dead. So she left. Surra wandered south for a month, avoiding people when she could, before she found her cove. Solace Cove, she called it. There was no-one around for miles; the nearest cothold was at least a day's hike up the coast, and they never bothered her. She was blessedly alone.

Tears fell as Surra bent down and picked up the snare, resuming her work, slowly calming herself down and packing the grief – still raw even after more than two Turns – deep inside where she didn't have to think about it. By the time she had finished repairing and resetting the trap, she was again firmly in the present. Picking up the wherry, she made her way back down the stream to the cove.

Checking the fish, Surra decided that it had smoked long enough to keep for a few days. If she had a good enough haul in the next week she would take the time to properly smoke it for long-term storage, laying down provisions for more meager months, but for now she removed the smoker from the heat and spitted the wherry for her dinner. While it roasted, she cleaned the hide and set it to soak in the river, planning on making herself a new pair of boots to replace the pair she was slowly wearing out. She put the smoker and the preserved fish away in her cave, returning to the beach with a set of self-made reed pipes held in her hand. She sat down on the beach, close enough to the fire that she could turn the spit every once in a while, and began to play softly as she watched the sun set over the sea. At first she played nothing in particular, just making tunes up as she went along; but eventually she modulated her way into songs she knew well. The song from earlier came into her head, and she played it, remembering the words as her fingers piped the notes:

 

_We beat the dusty roads,_

_And never bow to any man._

_They shut themselves in holds,_

_And never know the open sky._

 

_We follow where the wind blows,_

_Where fickle fate shall take us._

_We run both free and true,_

_Forever our own masters._

 

_We walk the open fields,_

_And never stay for very long._

_They wave as we pass by,_

_And never feel the call to roam._

 

_We follow where the wind blows,_

_Where fickle fate shall take us._

_We run both free and true,_

_Forever our own masters._

 

_We run both free and true,_

_Forever our own masters._

 

Surra brought the pipes slowly down into her lap as she finished the song. It filled her with melancholy again, but did not crush her with despair as it had before. She waited a moment, then stood to take the roast bird off the spit and share her dinner with Kaia.

 

 

***

 

 

The next morning dawned much as the previous one had. Surra awoke before the sun had peered above the treeline, and ate her breakfast – this time roast wherry left over from last night – as the sky grew lighter. Kaia broke her fast with seafood as Surra pulled her boat out from the cave and prepared to row out with the tide. But Surra had gotten no further than finding her fishing rod when she spied a ship on the horizon, getting larger by the minute. Curious, Surra shaded her eyes and looked out in concern – before recognizing the Masterfisher's colors flying on the mast. Laughing softly, she stowed the boat back into the cave and waited on the beach.

She watched as the big ship weighed anchor off the coast, and a dinghy descended with several men inside. They rowed hard for the cove, pushing against the current, but eventually made it to the beach. Surra jumped into the water with the sailors, helping them pull the boat to shore and greeting almost all by name. She reached into the boat to pull an older man out. 

“Hello, Grandfather,” Surra said, a small smile on her face.

“Surra!” Bandemin, the Masterfisher of Pern, greeted his granddaughter warmly. The pair hugged, and Surra led the men up the beach, bringing out the fish she had smoked yesterday and offering the men water from the stream.

“Water, Surra? Don't you have any damn klah around here? It's barely even morning!” asked one of the sailors. She laughed and shook her head.

“Surra hates klah! Says its foul taste ruins the, uh, what did you used to call it? 'Pristine solitude of morning,' that was it,” one of the older sailors responded, grinning warmly at the woman as she handed him a wooden mug filled with water.

The group settled down to the sand and gossiped. About fishing, mostly. Surra shared with them a new, simpler way of gutting a packtail she'd found using a thinner, sharper blade than traditionally used; the rest of the sailors told her about the massive fish they'd been catching off the coast of Tillek using stronger netting than before. After significant stories were swapped, the sailors hauled their delivery out of the boat: general supplies for Surra. There were fresh fruit and vegetables, rolls of leather, bread and cheese, a wineskin (Surra's eyes lit up at that!), and the newest timetables that would tell Surra when to expect Threadfall. Normally only very important folk - dragonriders, Lord Holders, and Master Craftsmen - had access to the timetable sheets themselves, but Bandemin worried about his granddaughter living holdless and alone, and copied every set he received to give to Surra.

“Grandfather, thank you! I told you, I'm doing fine here on my own, you didn't have to – but I'm not going to pass up free food, sir, you taught me better than that.”

Bandemin smiled and took Surra's arm in his, walking down to the other end of the beach, away from the sailors. The pair remained quiet for some time. 

“I can't come back yet, Bandemin,” Surra said, softly, “I'm sorry, but I can't.”

He sighed. “It's been more than two Turns. When are you going to let him go?”

“It's not just that anymore! I'm happy out here. I like being alone. I don't have to pretend, to say what people want, to be the Masterfisher's granddaughter. I can just be me.”

Bandemin studied Surra for a long moment, before smiling quietly. “You remind me more of your mother every time I see you, Surra,” he murmured. Pulling a package from his coat pocket, he handed it to his granddaughter.

“It's a knife,” he explained as she unwrapped it, “A gift from Klemmars.”

Surra arched an eyebrow. “The Mastersmith gave me a knife?”

Bandemin chuckled. “Well, no, it was to the Craft Hall in general, but it's yours now, so it's an indirect gift from him.” He watched as she examined the tool. “I liked the inlay on the hilt. The fish design made me think of you, of your carving. Your boat is looking more beautiful every time I come to visit, by the way.”

Surra laughed softly. “Thanks, Grandfather.”

The pair turned and began walking back to Surra's cave.

“I know you don't want to come back to Tillek with us,” Bandemin said, pressing on hurriedly at Surra's frown, “which is absolutely fine by me and you're old enough to make your own choices, but I was wondering if you would attend something with me?”

“Something like what?”

“Well, the High Reaches Weyrleader, J'ret, invited me a while ago to come see one of the Hatchings. I thought I'd take him up on it, seeing as there's one in a few weeks time. Would you be willing to come with me? I know you've never seen a Hatching before. They're quite spectacular.”

Surra shrugged. “What so spectacular about it? It's just a bunch of shells cracking.”

Bandemin shot his granddaughter a sharp look. “Just a bunch of shells? Those shells contain the dragons that protect us, Surra.”

“They didn't protect all of us.” Surra put on a burst of speed and pulled away from Bandemin. He watched as she headed back down the beach, calling Kaia – who, shyly, had remained out of sight of the sailors – to her and depositing the small lizard on her shoulder.

Bandemin and his crew said their goodbyes, with promises to sail back the next time they were near Nerat. Before rowing off, the Masterfisher extracted a promise, however vague and uninspired, from his granddaughter to join him at the High Reaches Hatching in a month's time. Surra waved to her grandfather as he and his men pulled away from the shore and boarded the sailing vessel, and she continued to wave as the ship disappeared over the horizon. Giving the sun a check, she decided there were still a few good hours of fishing left, and disappeared into her cave for the boat and the oars.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein we get a peek at Bandemin's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

_Tillek. Nine days later._

Bandemin leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, tired after a long day. He had just gotten back from Nerat the previous evening, and was only about half-finished with the work that had piled up in his absence. He stared at the skins that littered his office, dreading having to respond to each and every one.

He closed his eyes, looking for a little respite, but found none. Instead, his thoughts took him to Surra.

Though he knew she was a grown woman and had been for many Turns, Bandemin could not help but think of Surra as a young girl. She had been his charge since Ilena's death, so many Turns ago. And Surra had been merely a child then – lively like her father, with his striking eyes, but even then Bandemin had been able to see the reflections of Ilena in her. Surra had her mother's hair, that beautiful black hair that Bandemin had admired in his own wife. And now that he could see so much of his own daughter in Surra, it was even harder to stop himself from dragging her back to Tillek with him, kicking and screaming, if it meant he was keeping her safe.

He did remember her as a young child, before Padlin and Ilena died. She had been so bright, so full of life. Her laugh was beautiful. He loved his granddaughter, dearly. But even after her parent's death, Surra had retained her liveliness. Her laughter had still rung throughout the halls of the Fisherhall in Tillek, after she had recovered. And when she became a young woman, she had been beautiful and joyous, vibrant and so very alive. People had been drawn to her. She was fiery, sharp, clever.

And then one summer, the Lilcamps had arrived.

Bandemin sighed, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling of his office. Though there were often traders in and out of Tillek, and the Lilcamps had visited many times over Surra's lifetime, this particular train rarely visited Tillek. They were led by a woman named Nari, who's youngest son had given up the gypsy life Turns ago to marry a fisher in Tillek. Her son's name was Padlin.

Every time Nari's caravan arrived in Tillek, that damnable woman sought Surra out. Whether it was to assess her, to convince Surra to leave Tillek and become a Lilcamp, or simply to maintain ties with her granddaughter, Bandemin never knew. Nari never mentioned her meetings with Surra when she spoke to the Masterfisher, and Surra was rarely that forthcoming with details. It had never worried Bandemin – Surra was happy in Tillek, a born fisher, a gifted sailor. But in the last Turn of the Interval, three new faces arrived in Tillek with the caravan.

Dasiken had been a great friend to Padlin in their youth, a member of the same train until love and children lead him to join another. When his wife had died, he had rejoined his family's caravan, taking his two children with him. When he arrived in Tillek with Nari, he immediately sought Surra out – and was impressed by what he found. In Surra, Dasiken saw much of his friend's spirit, and introduced her to more of the caravan. Surra and his youngest, Meyla, were immediately fast friends. And then Surra met Dasiken's son.

To hear Dasiken tell it, it was love at first sight. But Bandemin knew his granddaughter better than that – she was not a silly child to fall head over heels for the first handsome man who came along, no matter how good-looking Darik was. He watched his granddaughter closely over the two weeks that the Lilcamps spent in Tillek. Her friendship with Meyla was steadfast, the beginnings of a long, solid relationship that would last for many Turns. Darik was a good man, young and strong, handsome to boot, with a good head on his shoulders in addition to his charm. But what cosnvinced Bandemin to let Surra go in the end was not the beginning of a crush on Dasiken's son; it was watching how well she fit with the Lilcamp people. he seemed one of them as she sat around the campfire, rapturously listening to their stories and sharing her own. He saw the hunger in her, the yearning for new places and people and ideas that had defined much of Padlin's life. So when Surra approached him to ask for his blessing to go with the Lilcamps, he said yes without hesitation.

Nari vouched for her safety, though Bandemin was sure that the person best suited to take care of Surra was Surra herself. And so she'd left, taken in as a member of Nari's family, a Lilcamp trader through and through.

Bandemin heard little from Surra after she left. Occasionally, he would get a note from her attached to a letter from Nari or another trader, but Surra sounded happy and fulfilled in her brief letters, so he did not worry. Then, just shy of a Turn since her departure, he received a long letter from his granddaughter: she had become a married woman, Darik's wife. Surra wrote to him about her wedding – Meyla had been part of the ceremony, a small affair that took place without Nari or Dasiken's consent on a day-long stop in Nabol – and apologized for not letting him know sooner. The Masterfisher was divided in his response to her news: while he was angry with her for not consulting him, he was proud that she had made the decision without Nari's coercion and happy to hear her sounding so joyous in her letter. He sent a runner after the caravan with his heartfelt congratulations, and expressed a wish for the new couple to return to Tillek soon so he could wish them well in person.

Bandemin sighed again, letting his shoulders slump back as he remembered the awful day he learned that Surra had disappeared.

He knew, as every Pernese did, the dangers of Thread. Surra had been no stranger to it either, tending to the occasional Threadscored man or woman who had been caught out in a Fall. She knew the damage the parasite could wreak, and so did the Lilcamps. They had priority access to Thread charts, and always timed their travels to insure that they were within a hold or cave whenever Threadfall occurred. But something had gone wrong, they had been bogged down in Nerat and caught unawares, and Darik had paid the price. Letters came pouring in from Nari – first that Darik was dead, then that Surra was inconsolable, then that Surra was gone and no-one could find her. It took another many months to track her down, holed up on the coast of Nerat, and by then there was no dragging her back. She could barely stand people, let alone people she knew who reminded her of her old life.

Whenever he visited her, Bandemin was always struck by the incredible change that Darik's death had wrought in her. Surra was no longer joyful, or carefree, or witty – she was quiet, introverted, somehow less present than she used to be. But what worried him most was not the shift in her personality, for he continued to see sparks of the same twinkle in her eye that had before made her glow; what worried the Masterfisher the most was the incredible disdain she had developed for dragons and their riders.

For the people of Pern, there is no beast mightier than the dragon, no more worthy profession than that of a dragonrider, for together man and dragon safeguarded the planet from the deadly menace of Thread. They were worthy of great respect as the ones who risked their lives to protect the lives of others. But somehow, in Surra's mind, the dragonriders had caused Darik's death. They had failed to char the Thread out of the sky in time, and her husband had paid the price. She had no respect for them anymore, and he feared that she had almost began to hate them.

But he could not force her to end her self-imposed isolation, not without ruining their relationship forever and destroying any chances of Surra returning to her former vibrant self. The Masterfisher had no choice but to obey her wish to live alone in Nerat with only her miniature lizard for company. But she had agreed to come to a Hatching with him, and Bandemin hoped that if she could see the miracle of a dragon Hatching she would again trust and respect the mighty dragons and their riders in the skies of Pern. Maybe that would be the first step in helping her overcome her husband's death and let rejoin her family in Tillek.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein we meet several more characters in Keroon and High Reaches Weyr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

_Keroon. Eight days later._

A green dragon burst into the blue sky over Keroon Beasthold. She had come out from _between_ far enough from the herds dotting the plains near the beasthold to not frighten the runnerbeasts who milled about in the afternoon sunlight. Circling, her rider directed her to fly high above the fields and to drop down onto a clear, well-worn landing pad of dirt within sight of the main barn. Clambering off his dragon, the greenrider dropped to the ground and strode towards the barn while his dragon darted off into the air again.

As he reached the barn, a group of men came out, most of them leading runnerbeasts behind them. Many greeted him, clapping the rider on the shoulder and offering their congratulations. The dragonrider returned the greeting and thanked the men, but kept going into the barn. 

As he walked through the open doors, he closed his eyes and inhaled, letting the familiar scents wash over him. The dried hay from the loft mingled with the sharp, acrid smell of leather tack; the heavy odor of the runnerbeasts lay underneath. The rider felt all his muscles relax, the tension from the last few months smoothing away as the knots in his back slowly undid themselves.

 _This is good for you,_ he heard his dragon say in his mind. _You have not felt this happy since the last time I rose. We should be here more._ The rider smiled at his green's worry, but did not respond. He opened his eyes and kept walking, caressing the noses of a few runnerbeasts who nickered at the sight of him as he strode through the barn. Reaching the end of the stables, he kept walking until he stood in front of a plain door, and knocked.

“A moment!” called a voice from inside. “Brant, if those beasts from Lemos aren't on their way back home within the next few days the Lord Holder will have a fit, have you seen my -”

The man inside opened the door and froze, cutting his own sentence short. The rider grinned at the surprised look on the older man's face before the man left out a cry and clasped the much taller rider to him.

“R'tair! I had no idea you were coming!”

R'tair laughed and hugged the man back. “Father, how could I not? You send a runner informing me that my little sister is to be married and expect me to, what, simply stay in my Weyr and not even offer congratulations? I came to ask you when the festivities were planned for. And who this man stealing Androa away really is.”

Before R'tair's father could answer, a third man came pounding through the barn towards them. “Masterherder Tygratel, sir, the Lemos beasts are all corralled, we can send a caravan with them tomorrow morning when – oh! Apologies, sir, I didn't realize you had company.”

Tygratel laughed. “It's perfectly alright, Brant. I'd like you to meet my son, R'tair, a greenrider out of High Reaches Weyr. R'tair, this is Brant, a man so gifted with the beasts that I've made him my second.”

“Congratulations, Brant, that's quite a post for one so young,” R'tair said as he reached out a hand.

“I believe it is you who are to be congratulated, greenrider! Your sister is a fine woman, and Androa couldn't have found a happier husband in Sidan,” Brant replied as he clasped the dragonrider's hand in return.

“Sidan? Really? I though she hated him!”

“Obviously not as much as we all thought. But, son, please, come up to the hold with me and have a stay. Your brothers are both here at the moment, and they'd love to see you. Brant, I'm sure you can handle the arrangement for the Lemos runners to my satisfaction while I spend an afternoon with my son?”

Brant flushed. “Of course, sir!”

“Unless you have to fight Thread today?” Tygratel asked, a shadow crossing over his face.

“No, Father, not today. I hadn't planned on it, but I'd be happy to while away the afternoon here.”

“Then it's settled! Come, come,” Tygratel commanded as he ushered R'tair out of his office. As the pair exited the barn, blinking in the bright sunlight, Tygratel shielded his eyes and peered at the sky. “Where is Maireth? Is she hungry?”

R'tair laughed. “Maireth is curled up on a rock somewhere, dozing. I'll ask her to meet us at the hold. And she ate two days ago, so she won't be poaching your herds, if that is what you are worried about.”

“Your dragon is perfectly welcome to some of my stock, son, as would any dragonrider. I would never accuse a dragon of 'poaching' my herds! You know full well I would be more than happy to feed her,” Tygratel responded stiffly. Laughing again, R'tair clapped his father on the shoulder and made his way to the hold with him, asking about his sister's wedding on the way.

For the rest of the afternoon, R'tair enjoyed being away from the trials of life in High Reaches Weyr by spending time with his family. He saw Tygrin, his elder brother, and lost track of the number of nephews and nieces he now had. He ran into his younger brother, Deon, and questioned him more thoroughly about Androa's marriage, since no-one knew her better than her twin. But as the sun sank towards the horizon, R'tair excused himself, citing Threadfall the following morning as his reason for leaving. As he came out into the cold evening air of High Reaches, where the sun had already set, he sighed and ran a hand along Maireth's emerald hide, who hummed in response as she slowly spiraled down the Bowl to land on the ledge outside their weyr.

As he slid off of her back and walked into the weyr, R'tair kept himself relaxed, remembering the good day he had just had, willing himself not to tense up. He moved the curtain separating his quarters from Maireth's sleeping area, sinking onto the small couch in the room. Taking off his helmet, he let his head hang back, brown hair floating free as he closed his eyes.

 _Gariseth approaches,_ Maireth announced in R'tair's mind. 

Groaning, R'tair sat up, pulling off his riding jacket as he did so. _How did he even know we were home?_ R'tair grumbled to his dragon.

 _I certainly didn't tell him,_ Maireth huffed in reply. R'tair let out a humorless bark before walking back out onto the ledge. 

A brown dragon winged its way out of the darkness to settle on the ledge beside him, his rider sliding off his back to walk briskly to R'tair.

“Hello, Gariseth. Good evening, D'slen,” R'tair greeted the pair tiredly. He heard Maireth echo a similarly tired greeting to the brown dragon in his mind.

“Where have you been all day? I wanted to speak to you,” D'slen started up irritably with no preamble.

“What about?” R'tair asked flatly, ignoring D'slen's question. 

D'slen narrowed his eyes, but didn't press, hurriedly saying, “You can't keep dodging this forever. And besides,” he whined, tears pooling in the brown rider's eyes, “I don't even know why you _are_ avoiding me this way.”

R'tair sighed. “Come on inside, it's colder than _between_ out here.”

 _Nothing is colder than_ between, Maireth stated to her rider.

R'tair smiled. _It's just an expression._

_Well, High Reaches_ is _rather cold,_ the green responded glibly as R'tair ushered D'slen inside.

“Why won't you give me an answer?” D'slen demanded imperiously.

R'tair sighed again. “I've told you before, D'slen. You're a wonderful rider, and I do care for you, but weyring together is such a... permanent step. One I'm not sure I'm ready for.”

D'slen frowned at him. “Gariseth has flown Maireth without fail for two Turns now. Isn't that permanent enough for you?” He sniffed. “You wouldn't be having such a problem with us if you were weyrbred.”

“Taking cracks at the way I was raised certainly doesn't help your case,” R'tair growled.

“I bet that's where you were today!” D'slen exclaimed, “Visiting your father like you always do, getting a dose of those ridiculous Crafthall morals, with him scheming how to keep you away from me and how -” 

“D'slen! You've met my father, he likes you plenty!” R'tair interrupted.

“Why won't you say 'yes,' then?” D'slen pouted.

“I like to have my own space! Is that so hard to understand?” R'tair shouted, frustrated with the brown rider. He regretted his words instantly as the hurt showed in D'slen's eyes and tears threatened to fall again.

“Then I'll leave you to your _space_ ,” D'slen choked, trying to push past R'tair, who grabbed his arm to stop him.

“D'slen, dear, I'm sorry for shouting at you,” R'tair apologized, sighing again. “Let me just ask Maireth how she feels,” he added, his eyes unfocusing as he spoke with his dragon.

 _Where I sleep does not matter to me. I care not. Would you like me to say differently so you have an excuse to say 'no' to the small man?_ Maireth answered before R'tair could finish asking his question.

R'tair grimaced, thinking to himself that he was probably the only dragonrider with a green savvy enough to know, on her own, when she needed to smudge the truth. Lucky him. _No, love, I want you to be honest._

 _Then I would be fine with weyring with Gariseth and his rider._

R'tair grimaced again. It was a bad sign whenever Maireth didn't say the name of a rider; it meant she didn't care for them. But she had agreed.

“Maireth says 'yes,'” R'tair informed D'slen, who lit up at the news, giving the greenrider a solid kiss before embracing him.

“Thank you, R'tair,” D'slen murmured. Pulling back, he looked up at his now-weyrmate. “My weyr is big enough for the two of us. Shall I tell Hannala that you'll be weyring with me?”

“N-no,” R'tair stammered, “I'll tell her myself. But, um, it's late, and we have Threadfall over Nabol tomorrow, so I think I'm going to head to bed here... I'll move my stuff in, say, tomorrow, too.” He leaned in to give the brown rider another, more lingering kiss, before laughing softly. "Besides, if I'm to be living with you every night from here on in, I'll be needing my rest when I can get it."

Pouting a bit, D'slen nevertheless untangled himself from R'tair's torso and headed back outside, shrugging on his jacket.

 _Gariseth,_ Maireth stated, directly but not unkindly, _You know full well that you fly me every time because you are the biggest of the browns with great stamina, not because I have any real special preference of you. Please inform your rider of this, if you have not already._

R'tair waited for the brown to relay Maireth's message to his rider, noting D'slen's dejection as he did so. R'tair rubbed D'slen's arm softly, murmuring that he would see him in the morning, before tenderly kissing the brownrider on the forehead.

D'slen mounted up, and the pair flew off in to the darkness. Maireth watched them go, her eyes seeing more than R'tair's in the dark, before heading back inside to her sandy stone couch.

 _You have no intention of telling Hannala anything, do you?_ Maireth questioned as she settled herself down on the stone.

R'tair grimaced. _No, love. I'll mention the situation to her, but I think keeping this place empty will be for the best._ The greenrider made his way back into his sleeping quarters. _How was Gariseth through that whole encounter?_ R'tair asked as he undressed and got ready for bed, exhausted.

 _Gariseth is a strong, even-tempered dragon. He knows his rider's strange moods, and was not upset by them. He will be fine,_ Maireth reassured her rider.

R'tair sighed for the upteenth time as he slid into bed. _It will be unpleasant all around when some other dragon catches your eye and flies you,_ he said tiredly as his body heat warmed the bed.

He heard Maireth agree gravely as R'tair slipped off to sleep.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Bandemin is frustrated by politics before receiving news of the imminent hatching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> A note to readers unfamiliar with McCaffery's work: "Marks" are the currency of the realm. Each crafthall makes it own marks, so there are Harpermarks, Minermarks, etc. In this story, when Fafnir refuses to use Fishercrafthall marks, he is basically deciding that the money that fishermen use when trading for goods is worthless, which would be a serious problem.

_Tillek. Two weeks later._

Bandemin strode down the gangplank of his ship, his mind many miles away as he set foot on land. He walked through the docks, sidestepping hurried dockworkers and crates of fish with a practiced ease that took only the smallest amount of thought. As he headed towards the hold, pulling off his gloves to blow on his cold hands, he tuned out the many shouts and crashes that washed over him, thinking about what he was going to do about Fafnir.

The High Reaches Lord Holder had always been obstinate; though quick to exploit every opportunity anyone handed him, he would stubbornly stand his ground and refuse to budge if he thought he was in the right.

Which was, Bandemin thought irritably, all the time.

Lord Fafnir had been giving the fisherman who operated out of High Reaches such a hard time that Bandemin had been called in to help calm things down before his men simply packed up and sailed south. And after spending two weeks with the man, Bandemin could understand why.

After starting “negotiations” with the fishermen – Bandemin considered them simply demands – to lower the prices that the fishermen would sell their catch to the hold at, and deciding that they were going too slowly, Lord Fafnir had unilaterally decided that he would simply stop accepting Fisher's Marks until they acquiesced to his demands. So the Masterfisher had sailed north, though frigid waters, to speak with the man.

After a solid week of talks, Bandemin convinced Fafnir that if he didn't start accepting Fisher's marks, then there would be serious consequences for the fishing trade there and that High Reaches would be faced with a massive food shortage, right after a long winter, as the supply of fish disappeared. But although Fafnir had agreed to accept the Fishercraft's currency again, he still refused to budge on the price. Bandemin had had to leave the situation half finished, since he could not be away from the hold for so long. Though his second, a strong-willed man, was still there at the negotiating table, Bandemin knew that nothing would get done unless he returned to High Reaches himself.

The Masterfisher began to mull over the pros and cons of soliciting the High Reaches Weyrleader for help when a brown dragon burst out of the sky right above the hold, bugling triumphantly to the blue watch-dragon. The brown swooped low, his rider obviously looking for someone – spotting Bandemin, he settled the dragon down on the ground, but did not dismount.

“Masterfisher! Please, sir, the High Reaches Hatching is about to start, and the Weyrleader has requested you be brought!”

All thoughts of Lord Fafnir gone from his head, Bandemin rushed towards the dragon. Ignoring the hand stretched out to him, he said, “We must go get my granddaughter, first!”

“Sir, I'm sorry, but my orders were to retrieve you, and I'm afraid we have little time, I cannot -”

“We'll have more time if you don't argue with me, son. Ask the watchdragon where she is, he can give you the visual, since I doubt you've been to that part of Nerat before.”

“Nerat! But that's -” the brown rider bit his tongue. “If you would please mount up, sir, I have the co-ordinates.”

“Thank you.” Bandemin accepted the rider's hand and settled behind him. “Brown rider, may I ask your name?” he asked politely, regretting his earlier familiarity with the rider, who as a dragonrider deserved his respect.

“It's D'slen, sir, and this is Gariseth,” the rider answered as, with several strong pumps of mighty wings, the brown dragon launched into the air and, after gaining enough height, went _between_.

 

***

 

Surra dragged her faithful boat into her cave after rowing in for the day – empty-handed. As Kaia flitted about her head, darting after specks of dust on the air, Surra worried. Though she had some of the fresh fruit left over from Bandemin's visit, most of the other supplies were gone, and fishing the last few weeks had been poor indeed. Her smoked reserves, laid down months ago, were almost gone, and she could not rely on catching a wherry every day. Though the situation was not dire, yet, Surra was beginning to feel pangs of real concern.

Suddenly, Kaia gave a shriek and bolted straight for Surra, digging herself in the woman's hair and twining her tail firmly about her neck. Confused, Surra started soothing the fire-lizard – then stared at the sky as a brown dragon suddenly appeared above her solitary cove. Immediately her eyes darted to the East, looking for the tell-tale smudge of Thread – but she could see no sign of that ancient enemy, and there was only the one dragon.

The brown spiraled quickly down to the beach, and Surra simply gawked as he landed on the beach and two people – two people? – on his back frantically waved to her. She didn't move, staring, until she heard her grandfather call out to her.

“Surra, come on! The Hatching's about to start!” Bandemin yelled. Surra felt as if she had been smacked in the face – the Hatching! She'd completely forgotten! Thanking the First Egg that she was wearing a clean shirt and a newly made pair of boots, Surra bolted towards the dragon and swung up behind her grandfather, ignoring the brownrider's outstretched hand.

“You forgot, didn't you,” the Masterfisher admonished as the brown leapt once more into the sky. Before Surra could reply, the dragon made the jump _between_.

Surra contained her panic at the utter blackness that surrounded her, at the freezing cold that bit at her exposed hands. She willed herself to stay calm, telling her mind that this was temporary, that in – how long was it? Three coughs? – she and the dragon she rode would be somewhere else on Pern. Just as her mind started to babble at her, they were in the air above High Reaches.

“Oh, good, we've time left,” the brownrider said smugly in front of Bandemin and Surra as the brown flew into the Weyr's bowl. Surra and Bandemin, for their part, could do nothing but stare at the sight around them. The air teemed with dragons, all heading for the Hatching Cavern on what seemed to certainly be a collision course. Surra screwed her eyes up tight as the brown dragon they rode seemed impossibly close to another – but when she opened them, confused as to why she was not dead, she found herself setting down onto the sand. She slid off the dragon, following mutely after her grandfather. She watched as he greeted the other Mastercrafters who had already arrived – Klemmars the Mastersmith, a small man, was dwarfed as he stood between the solid Masterminer Caiden and the gangly Masterharper, Elhann.

Klemmars gave her a slight smile as she walked over, gesturing at the sheath that hung at her hip. “I am glad that Bandemin put some of my work to good use,” he murmured quietly. She smiled in return and said nothing. Surra liked Klemmars – as quiet as she was, they felt easy in one another's company. The Masterharper gave her a wink, and Surra's smile became uneasy: the outgoing and brash Harper, who used to be a favorite flirt of hers, now made her feel wrong-footed and awkward. Thankfully, Bandemin ushered his granddaughter up the stone steps to the benches that ringed the Hatching Grounds before Elhann could start conversation with her. She sat down between her grandfather and Klemmars, content to sit and watch.

She watched as the golden queen on the sands warily surveyed the crowds, hovering over her clutch. After staring long enough at the mother, Surra studied the eggs. They were mottled, each of a good, large size. There was no queen egg on the sands today. With a start, Surra realized that she had no idea when the last hatching had been, or whether or not Wrenth – or was it Worth? – had laid another golden queen recently. Drawing on her familiar anger, she pushed the guilty thoughts out of her head – after all, if dragons were really so special, they would have saved Darik. Surra surveyed the clutch again, and took a harder look at one egg in particular.

Off to the side of the clutch, on its own, was another egg. It was the same color as its fellows, and did not have the golden sheen that heralded a queen – but it was massive. Almost twice the size of the other eggs on the sand, Surra would have been hard-pressed to wrap her arms around it. She stared at it, somehow unable to look away.

Not looking at the man, she leaned towards Klemmars – her grandfather was busy chatting with Elhann – and asked if he knew anything about dragon eggs.

“You are referring to the one on the left, there, yes?” The quiet man responded. At Surra's nod, the Mastersmith continued, “I asked the bronze rider who brought me in, and he expressed his own bewilderment at the egg's size. Though he did not say as much, I gathered that he was extremely concerned about such an strange occurrence.”

Before Surra could respond to ask more, the dragons circled around the Hatching Grounds began to hum. The candidates – all boys, none older than fourteen Turns, some seeming to be about nine or ten – filed onto the sand, all in white. Wrenth moved back from the eggs as some of them began to shake, and added her own croon to the deep hum that was filling the Hatching Grounds. The tension began to build, the humming increasing until Surra thought she wouldn't be able to stand it any more. The eggs started rocking harder and harder, the candidates on the sand frozen in a mixture terror and elation.

Then a long crack formed in one of the eggs in the center of the clutch, and the humming grew louder – until finally one egg burst, and then another, and then there was a frenzy of activity on the sands as dragons spilled out onto sand.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hatching! And its aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

It was all happening so quickly, Surra could barely process what was going on. Many of the awkward, stumbling hatchlings had paired with the boys on the hot Hatching Grounds and were being led away, rapt joy on their faces – other candidates still were frantic as eggs shattered and a potential life-mate fell out onto the sand. But that big egg, the giant one, almost as big as a golden queen egg, had yet to crack, only rocking occasionally. Surra's eyes were drawn to it, always flitting back even as she tried to watch the harried action on the grounds, the momentous occasion she was here to see.

But that egg, that egg. Why did it not crack?

Most of the other eggs had split open, a bronze or brown or green or blue spilling out onto the sands to be met by a gentle hand and a boy's wide eyes for the magic of Impression. But still that giant egg did not hatch.

Suddenly, it burst! The shells went almost flying away as the dragon emerged. But unlike his peers, the bronze that stood now on the stand was not awkward or piteous – its head was tilted at an intelligent angle as it studied the remaining boys before it, eyes whirling a hungry-angry-lonely red. It was massive, as long from head to tail as any runner beast she had seen before – Surra wondered how it had managed to cram itself inside its shell.

With a roar the dragonet leapt forward, wet wings half-spread to dry in the air, bounding past the boys who scattered at its passing. The mad thing almost slammed into the wall separating the stands from the grounds, trying in vain to claw its way up the rock face to the people above. Surra distantly heard a few women in the front row scream, saw them bolt away from the half-mad bronze in their terror, but did not process it. She was terrified – the thing was so ferocious and distraught, she was sure it would kill her and everyone else – and yet she could not move.

The dragons around were rumbling and eyes began to whirl red. The great bronzes arrayed around the sands were especially agitated – their brother, their child, was being denied his soul mate! Surra watched, almost not processing what was happening, as a man jumped onto the sands and shouted at the spectators. Come down, come down, he commanded, one of you in the audience is the one he wants! By the First Egg, men, come down here at once!

Hesitantly the men – some not much older than nine, others in mid-20s – jumped down to the sands a careful distance away from the dragon. The shouting-man – a detached part of Surra's mind reasoned that he must be J'ret, the High Reaches Weyrleader – beckoned the tentative now-candidates forward, but the dragon did not cease its frenzied attempts to scale the wall and climb into the stands. The men came closer, and the dragon turned and crouched, growling deep in its throat. Such was the dragon's madness and loneliness that it spread throughout all the minds in the Weyr, reaching out to Surra. The anger and fear and the gnawing hungry _nothing_ that sat inside the half-crazed newborn took hold of her mind, she felt it, she felt him, she felt the pain and the terror, he was so alone and afraid, and these menmenmen pushed themselves to him, they were not his, they were stopping him from finding his, they were denying him his own mind, they were badbad men, his talons were raised, he would kill them all if he could not find his mindlove, he would kill -

Without knowing why she did it, without even knowing she was doing it, Surra sprang up and ran, shouting no, no, no, do not! as she pelted towards the sand, arms raised as if to ward off the incoming blow from those claws, deadly even a few minutes after hatching. She reached the wall and jumped, landing in a heap in the sand behind the crazed bronze. It turned, ready to scratchclawbitetear this newest threat, claws unsheathed to rake the tiny thing from head to toe. He spun around, nameless and alone, to kill, as the tinygirlthing raised itself from the sand...

Then whirling red met eyes of moistened emerald, and the yawning abyss was filled – not just inside the dragon, but inside the girl as well.

They were whole, they were together. Intense wonder filled Surra's body – how had she ever managed to live before this moment? The great bronze before her was all that mattered, and he loved her, and he would love her forever and never leave her side. His soft hide, still damp, was warm beneath her as her arms wrapped around the beautiful head, her mindlove crooning softly beneath her.

Exultant, she turned to the stunned men arrayed before her, focusing eyes bleary with tears upon the silent Weyrleader.

“He says his name is Tameroth!”

  
***  
  
  


There was a feast after the Hatching, as she knew there would be. Surra spent the entire time feeding the ravenous Tameroth, who interrupted his demands for food only to extol upon how wondrously cleverbeautifulkindlovelyperfect his new rider was. Surra laughed at his flattery and responded in kind. A servant of some sort had shoved a sweet-smelling pot of oil at her as she had exited the Hatching Ground – Surra rubbed the stuff on her dragon's distended belly and all his joints, caressing him to sleep with a soft eye-ridge scratching. She felt his mind slowly leave hers as Tameroth drifted off to sleep, and knew that the moment he woke up they'd be connected again. Surra leaned back against her sleeping dragon, and sighed with happiness.

Her eyes closed for a moment, and the excitement drained out of her. Now she was merely exhausted – but her mind kept churning, letting reality sink in now that Tameroth was asleep.  
Girls Impressed queens, leaving all the other dragons to the boys. She'd never heard anything about a girl Impressing a bronze, the most masculine of all dragons. Was something wrong with her? Or was something wrong with Tameroth?

She could feel someone watching her, and forced herself to lift an eyelid. Staring at her was a knot of men, all standing tall and surrounded by the air of authority, Bandemin among them. Seeing that she was awake, they picked their way through the subdued crowd towards Surra and Tameroth. They left Bandemin behind, who stared after them worriedly.

The group stopped in front of her, the six men peering down their noses at the pair while Tameroth breathed deeply. Silence for a while as Surra's body refused to heed her command to get up. Then the shouting man from earlier cleared his throat.

“Surra, my name is J'ret, and I'm the Weyrleader here at High Reaches. Would you mind coming with us for a moment?”

“But, I -” and Surra gestured towards the dragon beneath her.

“Oh, he'll be fine,” J'ret reassured her, “He'll sleep for a good while yet.”

Reluctantly she stood, taking the hand that J'ret offered. As they walked away from the crowd, Surra cast several looks over her shoulder at the sleeping bronze before the group rounded a corner. With Kaia's tail wrapped firmly around her neck, Surra felt emboldened enough to openly study the men who walked with her. Without an exception, their expressions were grim. Surra felt her belly drop coldly, and unconsciously swallowed to control her apprehension.

When the sounds of the feast had faded, the men stopped and turned to face the small girl in front of them, who – try as she might  – quailed under their collective stare. J'ret took a breath to say something, before:

“Who the blazes _are_ you?” snapped out one of the older men.

Startled, Surra was about to reply when a slightly younger man asked, “You're not actually a boy, are you?”

Surra's furious “no!” shot out over J'ret's “I thought we'd agreed to let me conduct this affair?”

“What affair?” demanded Surra, so offended that she'd forgotten to be afraid. “Why've you dragged me away from my dragon not two hours after he's hatched to accuse me of lying about my sex? Well? You ask me who I am; I ask who are _you_ and what gives you the authority to be asking such rude and impertinent questions!”

There was silence for a moment, until J'ret spoke again, softly. “I'd like to introduce the Weyrleaders of Pern to you, Surra.” He named them in turn: N'than of Fort, C'nar of Ista, K'vont of Telgar, F'sin of Igen, and finally V'per of Benden. The Weyrleaders expected the girl before them to pale with fright at hearing their names and ranks, but the tiny thing showed no sign of backing down.

“My question still stands,” Surra responded flatly.

C'nar of Ista – the older man who had spoken first – snorted. J'ret glanced at him sharply before continuing on.

“Surra, do you understand why the other Weyrleaders and I would be... unsettled after this Hatching?” the High Reaches Weyrleader queried.

Though she knew full well why, Surra responded, “No.”

“Are you really a boy?” repeated N'than, the Fort Weyrleader, drawing an exasperated sigh from J'ret.

“No,” Surra repeated, falling silent. The Weyrleaders waited for further explanation, but Surra offered nothing with her hard green eyes.

“By the Egg, girl, are you really that stupid?” grunted C'nar.

Surra smiled tightly, revealing a row of sharp white teeth, but gave no reply.

“Are you... you know... not... into men?” asked F'sin, the young Weyrleader of Igen. He looked so out of place and awkward that Surra could not bring herself to be offended by his question, but still she gave no reply.

J'ret sighed. “I'm sorry, Surra, that we came off so strongly. I am – _we_ are worried about what it would mean if a woman had truly Impressed a bronze dragon. There've been records of females Impressing green dragons, and rumors of women paired with blue dragons – but never something like this. This...”

“Upsets the natural order!” C'nar butted in after J'ret trailed off. The Weyrleaders of Fort and Benden murmured soft “hear, hears” as they nodded with the Istan Weyrleader's judgement. He turned to the other Weyrleaders, his back to Surra. “This... _woman_ has upset the long-held traditions of our ancestors! It's absurd! A _female_ Impressing a _bronze_? Why, it's an insult to the fine dragons we ride, and the traditions that we protect as leaders of our Weyrs!” He turned again to Surra, arms crossed. No-one spoke, though Fort and Benden both continued to nod.

Surra studied the six men arrayed before her as if they were a map. C'nar of Ista, V'per of Benden, and N'than of Fort were all firmly arrayed against her – while she expected that of the two older men, the resistance of the younger V'per did surprise her. K'vont of Telgar seemed to have no opinion, although he did smile mildly when she met his eye. The young F'sin of Igen she knew wished her no harm, but he was too awed by his older companions to be a real ally to her. Surra's gaze fell upon J'ret.

J'ret was the Weyrleader of High Reaches – _her_ Weyrleader now. He respected her, did not insult her – and he was an idealist, Surra sensed. He would stand by his Weyr and those under his command with an unwavering loyalty.

And now Surra was under his command. He was her way out of this mess. She stared at him desperately, the way a drowning swimmer grasps at a piece of driftwood. Noticing her stare, J'ret smiled uneasily – uneasily but not unkindly. Hope smoldered in Surra's chest.

C'nar rumbled, “Such an occurrence as this is highly unnatural. It is not for the Weyrs to allow such blatant abominations to continue!” The Weyrleader shoved his hands into his belt and puffed his chest out, glaring at the woman before him.

Surra's mind whirled suddenly. What if they tried to take Tameroth away from her? She would die! They would try to give him to someone else, and then he would die! Her mindlove? Dead? Never!

Fear at this thought widened her pupils and her eyes, making her lips almost tremble. She could see C'nar's upper lip curl, believing her fear to be in response to his comments.

As her terror mounted, N'than added his piece, his oily voice dripping with disdain. “Perhaps we are worrying prematurely. Her... hatchling,” and Surra did not miss the scorn in the Weyrleader's voice, “displays an almost bestial ferocity unlike _our_ proud dragons. And the thing is far too large, and proportionally highly inaccurate – I doubt it will prove viable, or more than a beast of burden. No, I believe we give this _girl_ more credit than her abomination of a dragon deserves.”

Surra's blood sang in her ears as her terror froze instantly, melting into a searing, burning rage. Her hand reached involuntarily for the knife that rested heavily on her hip, though she clamped down on her anger before drawing the blade. N'than's eyes widened as he took a step back, retreating slightly from the intense anger that radiated off the young woman. J'ret raised his hands unthreateningly as he stepped towards Surra slightly, eyes fixed on her cold face. C'nar uncrossed his arms, hand also resting on his knife, while V'per merely smiled, eyes glittering.

A sudden roar ripped through the tableaux, and distant shouts could be heard along with crashing. Tameroth was awake, his mind joined to his rider's, and Surra's tumultuous emotions had roused him in a state of fear and searing anger.

Without a word, the woman pelted back along the hallway, rounding the bend and skidding to a halt as she saw Tameroth, wings extended six feet to either side for balance as he clawed his way across the cavern floor towards his rider. His eyes were whirling red again, the light from the fire reflecting in the facets. She rushed towards her dragon, and his whirling eyes slowed, tinged yellow with alarm for his rider. As she pulled Tameroth's head towards her, Surra breathed in slowly and willed herself to calm her anger. She was with her dragon, just as she would always be. No-one would ever take him away from her.

_Of course they won't!_ Tameroth's voice rang in her head and made her smile. _And I'll stop anything that tries!_

As Surra scratched the bronze's eyeridge, his eyes slowed their whirling and the angry red receded. She murmured comfort and love to Tameroth as the Weyrleaders all stopped abruptly at the sight of the feasting cavern, now in disarray.

“What in the blazes has that _thing_ \- ” C'nar began indignantly before J'ret hushed him. Quiet words were exchanged, and the other weyrleaders left the room, C'nar looking especially put out. Not that Surra noticed. She had her head buried against Tameroth's neck, who was now watching as J'ret approached the pair.

When the Weyrleader was just out of claw-swiping range, Tameroth let out a low, rumbling growl that drew J'ret up short.

He frowned at the dragon. “None of that. You behave or I'll have Wrenth speak with you. And it wouldn't do to have the Queen reprimand you on your first day out of the egg, would it?”

Tameroth ceased his growling, but he wrapped one wing protectively around his rider.

“It's alright, dear,” Surra's disembodied voiced said, muffled by the dragonhide around her, “We can trust him. He's the only one looking out for us.” Slowly the dragon retracted his wing, and Surra resolutely met the Weyrleader's gaze.

“Don't make me a liar, sir,” she said softly.

J'ret nodded at the young woman in front of him. “Surra, I won't. For better or worse, you are one of my riders now, and I'll protect with you with everything at my disposal, and do my damnedest to help you through this.”

He reached out a hand and, meeting Surra's eye, smiled. She smiled back, and stepped away from her dragon to clasp his hand tightly. “Sir,” she said, “Thank you. That means a lot.”

J'ret smiled wider and let go of her hand. “Welcome to High Reaches, Surra,” he said, and walked away, gesturing as he did to the harpers at the end of the hall to start up their music again. They did so, and as their playing began, people ceased to stare so openly at the girl and her bronze, instead returning to conversations with their neighbors.

As chatter increased in the hall, Surra ignored the sideways glances that everyone shot at her. Holding her head high, she led Tameroth to an empty table and sat down. Kaia, who had disappeared during the confrontation with the Weyrleaders, popped into the air beside Surra, and buried herself in the woman's hair. Occasionally feeding her dragon or her fire lizard, Surra quietly ate her own meal, caught up in her own silent bubble with Tameroth and Kaia.

An hour passed, and the crowd in the hall began to thin as the sun began to set. Bandemin came up to his granddaughter.

“Surra - ” he began, but was cut off abruptly as she jumped up from the table and embraced him fiercely, her head buried in his chest. He returned the hug just as tightly, stroking her hair and murmuring comforting words into her ear. He looked up to see Tameroth's eyes staring him down, Kaia hovering in the air beside his head.

“Take care of her,” he whispered to the dragon. Tameroth titled his head slightly, but otherwise did not move.

Sighing, Surra pulled away slightly from her grandfather. “Sorry,” she said, smiling ruefully, “But I just needed a hug.” They both laughed, quietly.

“Surra, I'm worried. I don't know what is happening, or what to do. But I think High Reaches is the best place for you right now. J'ret is a good man, and a fine Weyrleader. He will help you. And the riders here are good people.”

Surra pursed her lips, but said nothing.

“They _are_ good people, Surra. They do their jobs well. You can't keep blaming them for - ” Bandemin cut himself off as he watched Surra's face become stony. “Well, never mind. But they can teach you how to best care for him, for Tameroth. After he's grown, we'll see what happens. Remember that I love you, always, and will support you whatever you decide to do.”

Surra smiled at him again, but said nothing. The pair said their goodbyes and Bandemin walked away, asking his brown rider to take him home again. Surra sat down at the table again, absent-mindedly caressing Tameroth's head.

_That man. Who is he?_ Tameroth asked.

_My grandfather,_ Surra replied, letting her memories of Bandemin stream towards her dragon.

After a few moments of processing what he was seeing, Tameroth said, _He is a good man. He cares for you. He asked me to take care of you. I will, of course, but not because he asked._

Surra laughed and scratched his eye ridge in reply. _More meat, dear heart?_

The strange trio continued to sit and eat in silence as the party continued to peter out. Eventually the harpers stopped, and many of them packed up their instruments and left, obviously being taken back to the Harper Hall by dragonback after the evening was done. But one harper stayed, making the rounds and saying hello to the people remaining in the room, before making his way over to Surra.

He plopped his gangly frame down beside her and looked her square in the eye. “Hello,” he said, “I'm Kabiel.”

Flustered, Surra did not reply. Tameroth sat up as his eyes began to whirl faster, a hint of yellow and red showing through the blue, and drew closer to his rider.

“He's fairly massive, isn't he?” the harper continued, looking over at the bronze, “I've never seen a hatchling his size and I've been here for Turns.”

Surra glared at him. “Glad my dragon could be some spectacle for you,” she hissed.

Kabiel slowly turned his eyes back to Surra and studied her for a long moment. Just before she began to bristle, he said, “Well, to be honest, _you_ are the real spectacle here.”

Surra knew that she should be insulted by the words. But the harper said them so slowly, so honestly, that she couldn't bring herself to be offended. Instead she studied the man sitting beside her – he was tall, overly tall, and thin, with sandy blond hair that flopped across his forehead and engaging blue eyes that screamed intelligence.

Deciding that she liked this man, Surra smiled. “Is that why I've attracted your attention?” she asked. Tameroth relaxed, and curled up again to go back to sleep.

Spearing a tuber off Surra's plate and popping it into his mouth, Kabiel nodded. “Of course,” he replied bluntly around a mouthful vegetable. “You're the most interesting thing to happen to this Weyr since Dasarth flew Wrenth and J'ret became Weyrleader with Anissa. More interesting, honestly. I could write a ballad about you, the 'Girl Who Rode a Bronze,' in a few Turns time and be famed throughout the rest of history for my brilliant retelling of one of Pern's favorite heroines.”

He snuck another tuber before Surra pulled her plate away. “Or villains,” he added, raising an eyebrow at her as he wolfed down the second vegetable and moved her plate back to grab a third. At this, Surra smiled, a full smile with teeth, a smile she hadn't used in Turns.

Swallowing, Kabiel peered at her closer. “Wow, you are really pretty when you smile like that,” he remarked bluntly. Flustered, Surra pulled away from him.

“Oh, don't worry, you aren't my type. I like my ladies small, blonde, and plump. Plus, if I'm to be an objective observer I can't exactly get involved with you, can I? But if you want the horny riders around here to leave you alone, you shouldn't smile like that, or they'll be all over you, bronze rider or no.” He peered at her again. “Actually, you're still pretty when you aren't smiling, so I guess you're out of luck there.”

Surra chuckled. “I didn't realize the Weyr was so strapped for pretty women.”

“Oh, they aren't 'strapped' at all,” Kabiel replied as he pulled Surra's plate over to him and began eating her food with abandon. “There's many pretty young things around here. Even Hannala, the Headwoman, is a beauty, if she is getting a bit on in Turns. And Anissa...” the harper trailed off, a dazed look in his eye as his fork paused in mid air, “Our Weyrwoman's a queen through and through.” After a pause, Kabiel gave himself a shake and continued eating.

“So I'll have no problems making friends here, then,” Surra replied sarcastically

Kabiel stopped eating and looked up at her, staring bluntly at the bronze rider. “No, I think you might have trouble making friends here,” he said slowly, thoughtfully. “You're new, and maybe dangerous, and there will be people here who don't appreciate that, people who will be afraid of you. It won't be easy. You'll get lots of flack from some people, and even though J'ret's on your side, he isn't a supreme leader here. People will still have problems with you, and with your dragon, and what you mean to all this,” he gestured around with his fork to the cavern, including the entire Weyr in his movements.

He smiled at her. “But I'm your friend, and I'm the most interesting person here besides yourself, so you'll get along fine.” He turned back to Surra's plate and continued shoveling down food. She did not respond, quietly processing what he had said. Looking around the cavern, she noticed many people glancing at her from time to time, and many of their gazes were more unfriendly than curious. There was truth to what Kabiel had said.

Surra started. “Wait, we're friends?” she asked.

Kabiel looked up again with a mouthful of some kind of mashed root. “Duh?” he replied.

Tameroth rumbled from underneath Surra's feet, the dragon equivalent of laughter. _I like this man,_ the dragon said in Surra's mind, before adding, _But don't let him know, or it will go to his head._

Surra laughed out loud at the dragon's comments as Tameroth went back to sleep, and declined to tell the harper what was so funny.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein politicking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

_Benden Weyr. Two days later._

J'ret burst into the night air over Benden Weyr and suppressed a shiver. Though the weather was undeniably warmer in Benden than in High Reaches, the utter cold of _between_ still clung to his riding jacket. The watchdragon on the heights bugled a greeting as J'ret clapped his hands against his arms in an attempt to gain some warmth. The Weyrleader ran a hand along Dasarth's bronze hide as he spiraled lazily down into the Bowl.

As Dasarth landed on the ledge leading towards the Weyrwoman's quarters, J'ret heard him greet the two bronzes already there. Though he did not hear the responses in kind, J'ret recognized Gosth, the Benden Weyrleader's dragon, and Bedarth of Telgar. The remaining three Weyrleaders were not present, but J'ret was early – as was his custom – so he felt no pressure to enter the weyr. _Besides_ , J'ret thought to Dasarth, _If it means that V'per has to put up with K'vont for an extra minute, who am I to argue?_

Dasarth rumbled in reply. _I like the Telgar Weyrleader. K'vont is a funny man. But he does annoy the Benden, doesn't he?_

J'ret stifled a laugh as the watchdragon greeted another dragon. As another bronze landed on the ledge, a genuine smile cracking his face as he recognized F'sin and Lareth of Igen. J'ret heard Dasarth greet the bronze with warmth as he walked towards the dismounting Weyrleader.

“Lovely night, eh?” J'ret called out as F'sin reached the ground.

Taking off his riding helmet, F'sin embraced the Weyrleader in reply before looking around thoughtfully. “It is, isn't it? Ah, K'vont's already here. I almost expected Benden to call this meeting at some ungodly early hour just to inconvenience us, you most of us. This is almost reasonable of him.”

“It's not worth annoying me if it means angering N'than,” J'ret remarked bitterly, “Fort likes his beauty sleep.”

F'sin laughed softly before his face became serious. “J'ret, you know damn well that this isn't just a meeting about possibly moving queens about. He's going to ask about your bronze rider, and you know Fort and Ista will stand with him.”

“C'nar's a stubborn old fool,” J'ret said as he and the Igen Weyrleader began to walk inside. “And I know full well that this isn't just a meeting about golds. Anissa was furious when V'per called only for the Weyrleaders and not the Queens.”

“Yeah, Karleen was miffed too. To be honest, I'm surprised Beinda let him.”

“Oh, Beinda will be here alright,” J'ret scoffed. “Serving us drinks, listening behind a curtain. She likes it when she's the only goldrider in the room. I swear, the Benden weyrleaders these days are obsessed with power.”

They ceased their conversation as they entered the weyr proper. Laying on a stone couch was the Benden Queen, Soleth. She raised her massive head in greeting, eyes whirling as both Weyrleaders bowed and offered their courtesies before entering the meeting chamber adjoining the Weyrwoman's chambers.

As J'ret expected, V'per was looking incredibly harassed. K'vont was lounging his entire long frame over multiple chairs and droning away in a dry voice. Seeing the newcomers, V'per rushed towards them, interrupting K'vont mid-flow.

“Good evening, gentleman,” V'per said as he shook both of their hands in turn. “As you can see, Telgar is already here, so we wait only for N'than and C'nar.”

Disengaging himself from their host, J'ret walked over to K'vont and clasped his hand. “How are Orella and Ashtaroth?” he asked.

“I'd say not a week before clutching. I think Bedarth is more excited than either of them, to be honest. After eight Turns and this being Ashtaroth's ninth clutch, I'm afraid it's old hat to them,” K'vont replied, smiling absently. Glancing over at V'per, who was now standing at the other end of the table as far away from the Telgar Weyrleader as possible, K'vont's smile widened as he gave J'ret a surreptitious wink.

“Ah, F'sin,” K'vont called out as he glided his lanky self over to the Igen Weyrleader, “How is Karleen? Shame she couldn't join us tonight,” he said, perhaps over-loudly, glancing over to the Benden Weyrleader, who stiffened.

“Oh, she's alright,” F'sin smiled amicably, purposefully missing K'vont's gaff at V'per. “To be honest Lasarth was a bit worried about leaving Wynareth, since she's so close to rising again.”

“Again? By Faranth, wasn't there just a Hatching there a few months ago?”

F'sin laughed. “A bit more than a few months ago, Telgar, but yes, this will be Wynareth's third flight in about two and a half Turns. I think she believes Igen is a little under strength at the moment. Karleen and I are inclined to agree with her, honestly.”

“High Reaches is about bursting with queenriders, F'sin,” J'ret offered, “And if Karleen is agreeable I could certainly offer her a junior weyrwoman to help share the load.”

Before F'sin could respond V'per cut into the conversation. “High Reaches, we should wait for the other Weyrleaders before we begin any discussion of this matter,” he said coldly.

J'ret met V'per's stony eyes from across the room, and allowed a long moment before he responded.

Breaking into a smile, he replied, “Of course, V'per, where are my manners? Many apologies. But perhaps some klah or bread while we wait for our absent bothers? I know that it is just about dinner at High Reaches, and I'm sure Telgar and Igen would also appreciate an after dinner snack.” His smile was mild but his eyes cold as a ice as he stared the Benden Weyrleader down, subtly berating the man's ability as host for not offering his guests refreshments upon their arrival.

V'per stiffened, but he could not take offense at anything J'ret had just said. He released a tight smile. “Of course, I'll ask Beinda to bring us up something directly,” he said, before brandishing open a curtain and wheeling out of the room.

K'vont let out a chuckle. “By the First Egg, man, that was well played.”

F'sin looked confused as J'ret and K'vont grinned at one another. “Why on earth are you two antagonizing him?”

“Because, my young brother, it's _fun_ ,” K'vont replied before draping himself over several chairs once again.

F'sin looked at him, wide-eyed. “Karleen was right about you,” he said. “You aren't just some hum-drum bore, are you? You enjoy messing with people!”

J'ret laughed as K'vont smiled. “Of course. Why else would someone as lively as Orella ever put up with me?”

J'ret's laughter was brought up short as he heard Dasarth say into his mind, _Sigrath and the Istan are here. Fort is now late._

J'ret grimaced. “Well, gentlemen, I suppose that's the end of our fun for this evening.” F'sin nodded, his face grim as he too received an update from his dragon.

K'vont, however, merely smiled. “J'ret, I'm afraid I'm going to have to disagree with you. This promises to be quite entertaining.”

He leaned back across his chairs as C'nar walked into the room and greeted the Weyrleaders there curtly and efficiently.

“Where's V'per?” he demanded.

“Seeing to our refreshments,” F'sin replied. J'ret noticed that F'sin's easygoing nature had dissolved into nervousness as the much older and more experienced C'nar had arrived. Whereas C'nar had been Weyrleader of the island Ista Weyr for more than a quarter of a century now, F'sin and Lareth had flown Igen's only queen in an open mating flight very recently. Though a more than capable man to lead Igen, as the youngest and the least experienced of the Weyrleaders he had the tendency to bow to the stronger wills of the older men. J'ret had been trying to break him of this habit, but only time would give him the maturity and experience to hold his own against the obstinate C'nar, the oily N'than, and the harsh V'per.

“Any sign of Fort?” C'nar grunted.

“Absolutely no sign of dear N'than,” K'vont drawled lazily.

“Well, he's late, we'd best start without him them,” C'nar grumbled.

J'ret and F'sin exchanged glances of surprise. N'than and C'nar, as the oldest of the Weyrleaders by a sizeable margin, usually stuck together on almost every matter. They had been joined seven years ago by the conservative V'per, and as a bloc usually never broke ranks. For C'nar to offer to begin a meeting without N'than, his staunchest ally, meant trouble within the older camp.

V'per re-entered the room and greeted the Istan Weyrleader. “Beinda will be up with refreshments shortly. We've only to wait for N'than and then we can begin.”

“V'per, he's late, we can start without him,” C'nar rumbled.

V'per surveyed the older Weyrleader cooly. “Surely we can spare a few minutes to wait for his arrival. As host, I insist,” he said coldly. C'nar stiffened, but nodded and did not argue.

F'sin and J'ret shared another look. C'nar was openly disagreeing with one ally and advocating for starting without a second? Something had changed.

Beinda entered from behind a curtain, followed by three Lower Cavern women, all carrying trays.

“Weyrleaders, good evening,” she said smoothly, gesturing for her followers to lay down their trays onto the table and then leave. “Can I interest any of you in a cup of klah? Perhaps some Benden white?”

K'vont was the only taker for wine; the rest of the Weyrleaders opted for klah. Though J'ret was certainly a fan of the exquisite wines Benden Hold produced, he needed his mind sharp for any confrontations that could arise. Clearly the other Weyrleaders were thinking along the same lines. K'vont, he knew, would never turn town alcohol.

Beinda served each of them. Taking as long as she could with each glass or cup, she would then delicately press each man for a slice of cheese or perhaps a piece of fruit, fresh off the tithe train from Lemos or Nerat. J'ret smiled politely and accepted her offers, nibbling at a vinefruit that was much nicer than anything Tillek was currently producing. Beinda's graces irritated him – she was the second oldest Queenrider in age, but had less experience than both her elder Brita, Weyrwoman of Ista, or Anissa, High Reaches's own Weyrwoman. Orella of Telgar was a more charismatic and able leader, and even Elexa of Fort and Igen's Weyrwoman Karleen were both more capable at managing their Weyrs than Beinda. But the woman, now in her seventh Turn of leadership but well past forty Turns in age, somehow saw herself as better than the other five Weyrwomen of Pern, and did everything she could to ensure that they were kept out of meetings where important decisions were made.

Thinking back on Anissa's reaction to V'per's request that only the Weyrleaders be present at the meeting, J'ret had to smile. She had been furious, raging that it was men like V'per who were ensuring that women had no place in Pernese history anymore. And to be honest, J'ret missed her presence – she was much more adept at politics than he, more capable of flattering N'than or changing C'nar's stubborn mind in order to achieve High Reaches's goals. She was the leader of the other Weyrwomen, and all except Benden Weyr's leaders listened hard when she spoke.

V'per, however, she could not stand.

_Karth approaches_ , Dasarth announced in J'ret's mind.

“About bloody time,” C'nar muttered. F'sin shifted uneasily and V'per shot the Istan Weyrleader a cold look.

Moments later, N'than strode into the room. “Apologies, dear friends, I was held up with Weyr business,” he said as he walked into the room, still pulling off his riding gloves. “Why, thank you, Beinda,” he simpered as she handed him a glass of wine.

_He's lying_ , Dasarth said abruptly. _Olith says he was simply in his weyr before he left Fort._

J'ret started. _What business do you have talking to Olith?_ he shot back.

_Olith likes me_ , the dragon replied smugly.

_The senior Queen at Fort Weyr does not_ like _you, silly oaf. She has more important things to think about. Did Elexa want us to know that?_ J'ret demanded.

After a moment, Dasarth responded, _Yes. Olith says Elexa is not happy with Karth's rider._

Shoving his worries about the Fort Weyrwoman to the back of his mind, J'ret refocused his attention to the meeting. V'per was officially calling the meeting to order and asking them to take their seats.

K'vont un-draped himself and sat up in his chair as he beckoned F'sin to his side. Shooting a thankful glance at the Telgar Weyrleader, who simply raised an eyebrow in return, J'ret seated himself at the opposite side of the table next to C'nar. V'per sat at the head, with Beinda on his right and N'than on his left, next to J'ret.

Thus arrayed, V'per began the meeting. “Good evening gentlemen. I've asked you all here tonight to discuss some miscellaneous Weyr business - ” J'ret grimaced internally, sure that the 'miscellaneous Weyr business' included a discussion of his newest rider, “ - the most pressing of which is the possible redistribution of junior queens to various Weyrs in need of them. Now, I suggest we start with - ”

He was interrupted by C'nar. “Excuse me, V'per, but I don't think it appropriate for us to broach this subject with only one Weyrwoman in the room. Either they should all be present, or none should. My apologies, Beinda,” he added, nodding graciously to Beinda, who pursed her lips in annoyance, “But Brita would be incredibly unhappy with this method of discussion.”

“As would Orella, I might add,” K'vont drawled, lazily swirling his wine in his glass. “I'm sure I would not mind waiting a few more minutes for them to be called here, since we have already so graciously delayed ourselves for N'than.” The Fort Weyrleader flared his nostrils, but K'vont did not look up.

J'ret let out a quiet breath, relieved that the Istan had voiced his discontent with Beinda's official presence at the table. Though there was no way to bar her from the room, having her sitting at the table made her the representation of all the Weyrwomen, something Anissa would have balked at and something J'ret could not afford.

V'per had the good graces not to argue. “Of course, a valid concern. But it is late, and I do not think we can wait for your women to get themselves ready to join us. Beinda, please.”

The Benden Weyrwoman shot daggers at V'per, but did not voice any complaint. Instead she stood. “May I offer any more refreshments to anyone, then?”

“Yes, Beinda, please,” N'than said, raising his empty glass. J'ret stared at him – was the man trying to get drunk?

As Beinda moved to get the wineskin and serve the Fort Weyrleader, V'per continued. “It is my understanding that both Ista and Igen Weyrs are not at full strength, and a dearth of golds in their Weyrs could account for that. I now give Ista the floor.”

C'nar nodded at V'per and began speaking. “At the moment Ista boasts only two queens, Brita's Frinath and one junior Frinath laid several months ago. Frinath has been rising only once every two Turns, understandable for her age, and the junior is insufficient to keep us at full capacity throughout the remainder of the Pass. Ista would ask for one or two queens within the next Turn or so, young, to help Ista remain at strength. I now give the floor to Igen.”

F'sin thanked C'nar before he spoke. “Karleen is currently the only queenrider in Igen. Wynareth is rising slightly more than once a Turn, but I am afraid that we are still below strength, barely at the minimum for fighting Thread. If I were to lose even ten riders I'd worry. Igen is asking for at least two golds, and also requesting two wings from another Weyr be temporarily moved to Igen to help bolster our numbers. I open the floor.”

K'vont raised his glass. “Telgar has two younger wings that have yet to see much Thread fighting. I would be more than happy to lend them to you for however long you need, with the possibility of absorption into Igen in two years time if we feel that a permanent step is necessary.”

“Fort can also offer one wing of experienced fighters if Igen would like to make it a flight, temporarily. Fort Weyr has no shortage of riders or queens,” N'than added smugly.

J'ret supressed a frown. N'than's dragon, Karth, consistently flew two other queens in Fort besides the senior queen Olith, and had for many years. He had been Weyrleader when the previous Weyrwoman had died, and Karth had won the open mating flight for Fort's leadership again. No doubt Karth had sired many of the dragons currently at Fort, and certainly the wing that N'than was willing to lend out as a show of his dragon's prowess.

“Igen would be most thankful for two wings, Telgar,” F'sin said, smiling at K'vont with genuine warmth, “And another wing from Fort would be gratefully accepted, even if only temporarily.”

“High Reaches would also like to extend an offer to loan additional fighting dragons to Igen if the need arises,” J'ret added. “Turning to the questions of the queens, gentlemen, High Reaches is also willing to be generous. At the moment we have five junior queens under Anissa, and Wrenth is of the opinion that that is five too many.” J'ret smiled, as did K'vont and C'nar. “At this time I think we could do with a bit of a rearrangement. My youngest queen is too young to be moved, but I believe that at least two of the others could be relocated happily to either Igen or Ista, although I would have to consult with the High Reaches Weyrwoman before any final decisions were made.”

N'than stared coldly at the High Reaches Weyrleader. “Fort can offer one queen now, without having to run home to ask for permission.”

J'ret smiled mildly, although internally he was screaming. N'than's presumption to make decisions about the queen-riders without Elexa's input was incredible, as was V'per's convening this meeting without inviting the Weyrwoman who should – ultimately – be making these choices. J'ret would also wager that the queen N'than was willing to give up was the only one who Karth did not fly on a regular basis.

“Perhaps High Reaches should not offer his queens at all if he cannot make good on his bargains without his woman beside him,” V'per said mildly. C'nar and F'sin both bristled and N'than looked smug. K'vont merely appeared bored, but J'ret could tell by his tight grip on his wine glass that he was as angry as J'ret.

Controlling his emotions, J'ret continued to smile. “V'per, I'm afraid you cannot ask me to attend this meeting without Anissa and then berate me for leaving her behind.”

F'sin leaned forward and spoke before V'per could. “Igen would be incredibly grateful for two junior queens from High Reaches. Karleen would prefer to consult with Anissa before any final decisions were made, and I am comfortable waiting until they make their choices on which riders to send to Igen.”

C'nar cleared his throat. “Ista would happily accept a junior queen from Fort, but would also prefer to receive two if another could be made available.”

“Since Ista's needs are not so dire and High Reaches is full to the brim with golds, I would consider – again, with Anissa's permission – offering the youngest of my queenriders to Ista in about a year's time when she has become fully grown and is ready to be flown.”

C'nar nodded at J'ret. “Ista is grateful, and accepts this offer, pending Brita's review and acceptance.”

The meeting continued this way for some time. K'vont enjoyed needling the older Weyrleaders when he could, which distressed F'sin. V'per and N'than continued to make jabs at J'ret the entire evening, but he shrugged them off, frequently relying on Dasarth's calm demeanor to reign in his temper. Interestingly, the nastier V'per and N'than acted, the more agitated C'nar became. He occasionally even went against the two, agreeing with F'sin more often than usual and once even siding with his long-time rival K'vont.

Beinda retired after the discussion over junior queens was finished, and more klah was brought by Lower Cavern women throughout the evening. The watch-dragon bugled the hour, and J'ret mentally counted backwards – he'd been at Benden for nearly three hours, and the sun was probably setting in High Reaches about now.

K'vont leaned backwards in his chair. By now even he had switched to klah, although N'than had continued to knock back glasses of wine throughout the evening. “Gentlemen,” he began, “I believe we have covered everything that we outlined as our objectives for this meeting. If we have any more 'miscellaneous Weyr business' to consider, we should consider it now. Telgar rests.”

“Igen rests,” F'sin added in before any of the other Weyrleaders could speak.

“High Reaches rests,” J'ret said quietly, glancing gratefully at K'vont and F'sin across from him. V'per, N'than, and C'nar were all silent, though only the Istan had the grace to look a little uncomfortable.

After a pause, C'nar cleared his throat. “J'ret, I think we need to talk about what happened at the hatching the other day.” N'than and V'per both nodded.

J'ret kept his voice light. “If you'd like to know, there were twenty-three hatchlings. Smaller clutch than usual, but this is to be expected considering our wealth of queens. Two bronzes, four browns, seven blues, and the rest were greens. No queen egg. Most of the candidates who were Searched were all Weyrbred, although I believe the two bronze-riders are both from the Crafthalls and some of the blue- and green-riders are holder lads from Nabol and Tillek.”

“By the Egg, J'ret, we don't care how many ruddy greens Wrenth hatched this time. We have to discuss that girl and her monster,” V'per spat.

J'ret clamped down on his anger. “I'm not sure what you mean,” he added lightly. “Yes, a woman Impressed a bronze dragon, but I'd hardly say that declares him a monster.”

“You must admit the thing is hideous. The beast is massive and oddly proportioned, too thin in the shoulder and too long in the body,” N'than said. “Even its coloring is off, too dark to be a proper bronze. And its behavior at the Hatching! It almost killed people!”

“You and I both know that hatchlings can be incredibly violent,” J'ret retorted. “The bronze spent an unprecedented amount of time alone, totally alone, before Impression was made. I think Tameroth - ”

“'Tameroth!' So it has a name now, does it?” V'per sneered incredulously.

K'vont shot V'per a look. “Of course he has a name. He's a dragon, isn't he?”

“Questionable,” N'than's oily voice dripped.

J'ret could feel Dasarth becoming more and more agitated, and forced both himself and his dragon to calm down before he spoke. “As I was saying, I think Tameroth did incredibly well reigning in his terror, considering that it was almost a full two minutes before he found Surra, or rather before Surra found him. I have seen no indication in the past two days that suggests any reason not to train the pair just like the rest of the new dragons.”

“But she's a woman!” C'nar shot out. “Women cannot and do not ride fighting dragons!”

“Come now, C'nar,” K'vont drawled, “You know full well that's not true. All the queens fight in the lower visions against Thread, even if they cannot flame. And there are records of women riding greens in previous Passes. It's simply fallen out of favor, like any style.”

C'nar's jaw twitched. “Nothing definitive exists in our records, Telgar. And even so, a woman cannot ride a bronze dragon! It will prove too large, too masculine for her to handle.”

J'ret stifled his initial response. Swearing would not help.

Before he could speak, F'sin cut in. “Then what exactly would you have J'ret do?” the young Weyrleader asked. “He cannot exactly separate them, can he? Impression has been made!”

C'nar had no response to that. V'per, however, leaned back in his chair and said quietly, “Well, not exactly.”

Stunned silence reigned. Even K'vont was leaning forward, his attitude of languor forgotten.

“V'per, you cannot be serious,” C'nar said, just as quietly, “We cannot... kill a dragon.”

“And why not? It would remove our problem, wouldn't it? Cull the herd, so to speak.” V'per's smile glittered dangerously.

F'sin, C'nar, and J'ret all began shouting at the same time. Even N'than looked stunned by the course of action his ally had suggested. V'per shouted back, and eventually even K'vont was on his feet, yelling at them all to calm down. Eventually a roar from Bedarth silenced them all.

In the heavy silence that followed, J'ret spoke. “No-one and nothing is killing any of my dragons,” he said, staring the Benden Weyrleader straight in the eye, “And that is final.”

Sneering a little, V'per gave a small kind of mock bow and sat down, gesturing for the rest of his guests to do so as well.

Shaking slightly, J'ret returned to his seat. “Surra is a High Reaches rider, and Tameroth is a High Reaches dragon. They will be trained with the rest of the High Reaches hatchlings, and as far as I am concerned, this is the end of the matter.”

“J'ret, surely you must - ” N'than began before C'nar cut him off.

“Tensions and tempers are high tonight, and I can see that nothing will be decided about this matter at this time. The dragon may not even survive, and we may all be worrying about this prematurely. I suggest that we give the bronze and his... rider a year in which we may observe their progress, after which we may make a more informed decision on how to proceed.”

“High Reaches find this acceptable. Now, gentlemen, it is late and I must be returning to my Weyr,” J'ret said flatly, standing up from his chair.

V'per ended the meeting and retired to his sleeping chambers immediately. N'than likewise did not stay to talk at all, and left on Karth before the rest of the Weyrleaders had reached the ledge.

Saying goodnight to Soleth, J'ret reached the ledge and leaned on Dasarth. C'nar gave him a nod before taking off, and F'sin clapped the High Reaches Weyrleader on the back before mounting up on Lareth. As he and K'vont watched the massive bronze wing its way into the blackness before disappearing, J'ret thought about how Anissa would have handled the situation. She would have been much more calm, more capable, more articulate.

_Also prettier_ , Dasarth added glibly.

K'vont glanced over at J'ret humourless bark of laughter. “He's not going to let this go, you know,” the Telgar Weyrleader said with an uncharacteristic tone of seriousness. “Neither will N'than or C'nar, even if the old man was being more reasonable tonight than he usually is. V'per's got it out for that rider of yours, I think. She upsets him.”

Walking towards Besarth and springing lightly up to the bronze's back, K'vont strapped himself to the dragon's saddle. “Personally, though, I like her.” He put on his helmet and waved. “She seems like quite the firecracker!” he shouted as Besarth beat his mighty wings and sprang into the air. J'ret waved back in reply as the pair disappeared _between_.

Sighing, J'ret mounted his dragon and asked Dasarth to take them home. As the mighty bronze took to the air, all J'ret could think about was how much he was looking forward to eating dinner with Anissa and going over strategy before they could tumble off to bed together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far - yay! You're my favorite. Unfortunately I won't be posting an update any time soon. I hope to do so not in the too-distant future though!


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